


Not So Tepid

by tigerlady (shetiger)



Category: The Magnificent Seven
Genre: First Time, M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetiger/pseuds/tigerlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a day on the trail, Ezra finally gets his bath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not So Tepid

The bathwater was deplorably tepid, which meant that it matched the state of the rest of the little hovel the residents insisted on labeling a town. Flyspeck was a more accurate term--a flyspeck that had the indecency to be composed entirely of good Christian men and women who truly believed gambling was a sin. Ezra knew he'd stayed in worse places in his day, but at the moment, he was hard pressed to recall such a misadventure.

Still, said flyspeck had a hotel, and said hotel had a private room and a bath service. Not that either were of even mediocre quality. He was certain that the only reason the tub itself wasn't ringed with scum was that no one in this place had ever heard of soap. Or heated bathwater. Although, truth be told, after spending all day on the back of his horse on a sweltering day such as this one, he longed for cold water, not hot.

Tepid would have to do.

Ezra splashed tepid water across his back one more time, then eased back, relaxing. He scratched his thumb over his cheek; three days of growth was acceptable only in pursuit of lucrative ventures. Not only did it give one the appearance of an unkempt ruffian, but it itched. Terribly. He lathered up his soap and applied it to his face and neck, unconcerned if he slopped the suds a bit. There was a certain advantage to doing this while bathing, after all.

He reached over the edge of the tub, fingers searching for his folded blade--but they encountered nothing but waterworn floorboards. He splashed forward, peering over the edge with consternation. He clearly remembered setting it down before he got in the tub, and he had a very exacting physical recall, as was necessary for a man of his profession.

The floor creaked.

Ezra froze. The sound could have been the result of the wood swelling with humidity. But humidity could not make razors disappear, and humidity wasn't the reason his skin prickled up with unease or blood pounded in his ears.

Holding his breath, he began inching his hand further out, searching for his Remington. He'd thought he'd left it close enough for swift access, while making sure it was still safely outside the splash zone, but apparently he'd been gravely mistaken.

"Didn't know you hum while you bathe, did ya, Ezra?"

Ezra closed his eyes, breath gusting out of him as he recognized Chris's voice. He didn't relax completely, however; Chris's moods were far too unpredictable for him to do that. He twisted around, and sure enough, there was the man himself, one long leg crossed in front of the other as he leaned against the wall. A small smile played upon his lips as he gazed down at Ezra and tapped a razor against his elbow. Ezra's razor. He was the very picture of insouciant charm, and Ezra was forced to pulled his knees in close to his body and pray that there were enough suds in the water to cover what was happening below the surface.

And then what Chris said penetrated. "I most certainly do no such thing!"

"Uh-huh. So why you didn't hear me come in?" Chris chuckled. "Wasn't the birds singing 'Red River Valley'."

Ezra decided the best way to deal with such a heinous accusation was to ignore it. "Was there a purpose for your visit, Mr. Larabee, or were you simply intending to deprive me of my ability to shave?"

"I wasn't intending to deprive you of anything, Ezra." The floor squeaked again as Chris rocked forward, straightening away from the wall. "I was just aiming to take you up on your offer."

Ezra swallowed. "My offer?"

"You were the one who said I needed a bath." Chris grinned. "After all, I'm a dirty, dirty man."

Ezra turned back around, facing away from Chris to gain a moment to gather his thoughts. And to squeeze his knees more closely together. Chris couldn't possibly be implying what it sounded like he was implying. It was simply fantastical thinking on Ezra's part.

Footsteps sounded on the boards--Chris moving around at last. Ezra started to turn, intending to face his Tantalus--and stopped at the feel of sharp metal against his skin.

"Chris?" His voice came out threadier than he'd intended, but it suited the situation. He had no intention of spooking the man. Not when there was a blade so close to his throat.

"Don't move." And then the blade scraped upwards across his skin, the rasp loud in Ezra's ears as swaths of stubble were cut down. Foam splashed to the bathwater as Chris flicked his wrist, cleaning the blade, and then it was back against Ezra's skin before he could think to move. The blade moved smoothly, and after a few strokes, Ezra relaxed, assured of Chris's skill. And whatever his intentions were, they didn't seem to be murderous. He closed his eyes, concentrating on keeping his breathing even as the thrill of what was happening filled his body.

"Tip your head back," Chris murmured. Ezra did so, like he was simply receiving the tonsorial attentions of any old barber, and Chris began working on his throat. He could feel the bare skin of Chris's forearm against his shoulder; he must have rolled up his sleeves while Ezra had his back turned earlier.

"Look at me," Chris said after a few minutes, jarring Ezra out of his pleasured haze. He blinked a couple of times. Chris was in front of him now, peering intently at his temples. He set the knuckles of his left hand under Ezra's chin and used his thumb to encourage Ezra to tip his head from side to side. "You might want to tidy up your sideburns yourself. If I work on them anymore, you ain't gonna have any left."

Ezra frowned.

Chris chuckled. "Don't worry. You're still handsome as ever." Then his smile slipped away. Ezra could only stare at him as Chris rubbed his thumb softly across Ezra's newly shorn cheek, then settled it just below his lower lip. "I can see why you're so fastidious about shaving. It suits you."

Ezra tried not to lick his lips. But once thought, the deed was almost impossible to avoid. "Fastidiousness suits any gentleman."

Chris's gaze was heavy on Ezra's mouth, on his own thumb, and it took him a long time to lift it to Ezra's eyes. "Are you always a gentleman, Ezra?"

He'd be a fool to mistake Chris's intentions now; the man had all but laid his hand on the table and asked Ezra to take his money. But in his years of playing the game, he'd learned it was unwise to collect big without keeping an escape route open. An escape route was something he very much did not have here.

But the greatest gains were only achieved by taking the greatest risks.

"There are situations," he said slowly, "where a more...base approach is better suited."

"Is that so?" Chris's thumb finally crossed the line of propriety. It traced across Ezra's bottom lip with an artist's grace and attention, but Ezra was more taken by Chris's eyes. He'd seen other men look at him with hunger and greed both, but Chris, as always, was far more than any other man. "What situations might those be?"

"When one is needing to defend one's life. When--" Chris dropped his hand, stroking his fingers over the sensitized skin of Ezra's throat, and Ezra decided that it was past time to drop the bluff. "Chris, please..."

Chris's kiss was in no way gentlemanly. And neither was his hand as it slid down Ezra's chest and into the water, finding Ezra's cock with sure aim. Ezra gasped, breaking their kiss, and Chris tightened his grip.

"Like that, Ezra?" Chris began sliding up and down, grip still firm. Ezra dropped his head back, but instead of jarring it against the hard edge of the tub, he found his skull cradled by Chris's other hand. He tried to keep his eyes open, to watch Chris watch him, to watch the motion of Chris's arm as it worked, but he felt far too good. He closed his eyes and let his legs fall open as far as the tub would allow.

"That's it," Chris murmured. His hand was slick from the soapy water, gliding so smoothly with each stroke. Then Chris slowed. Ezra opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Chris's thumb slid over the head of his cock. Over and over, small circles that sucked all of the breath out of his lungs. He had just reached the edge of too much when Chris started stroking again, faster this time, and just a little bit harder. Ezra gripped the rim of the tub with both hands. He needed to thrust, but the confines of his bath made that impossible. Perhaps that was why the tension in his groin was winding up so quickly. Or perhaps it was simply Chris's touch, commanding his body in the same way Chris's soul had commanded his loyalty.

"I must warn you," he forced himself to say, though Chris's hand was doing its best to steal his words, "if you don't stop now, this bathwater won't be suitable for a second use."

Chris pressed his cheek to Ezra's, his short whiskers a torturing tease of their own. "I'll pay for fresh," he whispered. Ezra groaned, and then he was spilling, his mind blanketed with the pleasure of the little death. He would have been embarrassed at how short of time it took him to reach such a state, but Chris was obviously a master of seduction. Ezra opened his eyes, still dazed, to find the man smiling at him.

"Come on, get out of there." He stood up and offered Ezra his water-pruned hand. "I've got plans for us before I'm ready to order that next bath."


End file.
